


He Crawls Like a Worm from the Bird

by ThirteenSocks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith is convicted for murdering his rapist, M/M, Minor Keith/Kolivan (Voltron), Shiro is a Corrections Officer, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22218856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirteenSocks/pseuds/ThirteenSocks
Summary: Shiro was upset. ”Keith, nobody helps anybody for nothing here,” he’d warned as the two finally got a moment alone together in a secluded alleyway between the yard and housing.”I’ll be fine,” he assured Shiro, not feeling at all like he would be.He, too, figured the protection would come at a price. And given that the Blades were all huge, older men, and Keith was small, younger, it was too obvious what the price would be.For anyone missing women, A face-down Keith would do alright.It’s Kolivan who takes him.Except, for the first time, Keith’s handled gently, almost reverently. He figures it’s been quite some time since Kolivan’s lain a woman down, and Keith appreciates that the man would lay him down as he would a lover. Despite making Keith’s toes curl and body sing and giving Keith a glimpse into what healthy sexuality might look like, Kolivan whispers into his ear all the same,” I’m sorry. I have to for appearances. For your safety and mine, I have to claim you.”
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 117





	He Crawls Like a Worm from the Bird

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by this piece I saw years (?) ago. This piece has haunted me since the day I saw it. I didn't find it saved on my phone, so I thought it was lost. But I ended up going through old tags/posts on my Tumblr and found it. I've seen and shared thousands of gorgeous, thought-provoking, emotion-inducing sheith art over the past few years, but this one really stayed with me. 
> 
> https://himmeca.tumblr.com/post/177347244978/i-will-get-you-out-of-here
> 
> I don't have the time to write the full 70-80k fic this deserves, but I did write a truncated outline. 
> 
> So here it is, formatted from the Twitter thread I wrote it on this afternoon.

Keith was in and out of juvie after his dad died and he was sent to a home.

His foster parents weren’t doing it out of love; the paycheck for fostering was their motivation and the less of it they had to actually spend on the children, the better.

It was their drug money.

In rural New Mexico, there’s nothing to do but drink, do drugs, or commit crime. The communities are tight though, and one or two families run entire towns. If you’re on the wrong side of the law, it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re on the right side of the family enforcing it.

Which meant Keith’s foster parents could get away with starving and beating their kids.

In Keith’s case, he was a beautiful child. He came to the home a sweet boy, a trusting one, if a hurt and grieving one.

His foster dad took special attention to him.

”Keith,” he’d say, ”you’re so grown up.” And for 8 years old, he kind of was. His parents were gone. He had to bare that sorrow while also navigating the harsh reality of growing up in general. By no fault of his own, he’d faced a pain most adults went through way later.

Keith was his ’dads’ grown-up boy. Which meant his first shot of heroin, normally reserved for birthday celebrations at age 16, was promptly at 9.

Brain fuzzy on the high, that was the first time his foster dad had touched him.

”My grown-up boy,” he’d whispered as his hands had whispered on young Keith’s skin.

Keith lost his innocence soon after that. An arm yanked behind his back, a hand shoving his face into the mattress, and 10 year old Keith was forced to open the man.

From then on, Keith started to change. He became especially Moody. He started getting into fights. He broke other kid’s noses. Bit their arms. Kicked them.

Little Keith became a problem child.

The only thing to numb him was the heroin, and his foster dad tightly controlled when Keith could get. When Keith could earn it.

As he gets older, into his early teens, his record starts to be more than just from what happens at the playground.

Keith’s hungry? He lifts food from the grocery shelves.

Keith’s mad? He throws rocks at windows, shatters the clear glass.

Keith needs heroin?

Maybe he doesn’t want to shoved against the bed.

His first real crime is a robbery.

He takes the handgun from his foster dad’s collection and brandishes it at the bank. He’s shaking from withdrawals, and he’d already gotten dosed yesterday, his lower body still bruised from earning it.

The foster family may have been in good graces with the officers, but Keith had went behind his foster dad’s back, stole his gun, tried to circumvent him to get the next shot.

It was too easy to frame Keith as a problem child then. He’d already had the school record.

The trial was a formality more than anything.

Keith was shipped off the juvie.

It was vile trying to get clean, but what got Keith through it was knowing his foster dad wouldn’t be able to touch him in there, and the kind man inside who watched over him.

Officer Shiro cleaned Keith up when he sicked. He fetched water and made sure they gave Keith the medication to ease his symptoms.

By the time Keith was ready to leave, he almost didn’t want to.

But he had to. So he came home.

The first thing his foster dad did was greet him with a shot, an errant hand cupping his behind, and the words whispered in his ear, ”My baby boy.”

It became a cycle from there.

In and out and in and out.

Every time Shiro would help him through.

Every time his foster dad would undo anything Shiro had done to help him.

Until, finally, one day, Keith just didn’t feel like opening his legs. Even though his brain was having shocks and his fingers shook And his stomach wanted to empty itself, leaping out his mouth and turning him inside out. He didn’t want to do it.

He protested.

But not like in the past, not where it was barely held whimpers or broken pleas for the man to stop, declarations that it hurts, begging for him to slow down.

With all his courage and the skills he’d honed out in the world, he physically tried to fight his foster dad off. He used nails and biting and kicking and punching.

But it wasn’t enough.

And that time, when he was taken, he was tied at the wrists, arms behind his back and if Keith had thought it were painful before, he’d never known pain. Not until then.

Broken, bleeding, and barely breathing after, Keith was left on the bed. He thought about Shiro, and imagined that man was there, cleaning him up just as tenderly as he’d been when Keith was sick.

He thought for a moment that he’d try and go back, but Shiro had left that facility. If Keith went back, there would be no Shiro.

Then, from the courner of his vision, Keith saw it. The soft light of the room was glinting, gleaming off a metallic surface.

It was the handgun, resting on the display case.

Keith was too tired then. But he knew what he would do.

The next time his foster dad approached him, as Keith was trying to concentrate on homework, his hand reaching across his thigh, Keith closed eyes and pretended it was Shiro. To his distress it wasn’t hard. Their hands were roughly the same size; they swallowed his body under their grip.

It was good. That was just what he needed. That would make it easier when he asked, ”Can you take me to your bed?”

And easier when his foster dad listened to him and did just that.

When they reached the bedroom, Keith allowed himself to get lost in the fantasy that this was Shiro. Keith needed his foster dad to lulled and gone to lust. That would be the only way he’d trust Keith.

”Daddy,” the word made him feel dirty to say, but he knew it would disarm.

”Can you get me some water?”

The fucker didn’t bat a lash before leaving Keith alone in the room.

Keith nicked the gun from the case and waited. His hands were trembling as he aimed it at the door.

But when his foster dad came into view, he hesitated.

That was the wrong move.

He wrestled down onto the bed, the gun falling beside his head.

It was a grace that Keith wished weren’t one that his foster dad found his struggle enticing. The gun was all but forgotten except by Keith as his arm was wrenched out of socket behind him. It wasn’t folded, it was held straight out for leverage. His face was shoved into the mattress. And he was shoved into bone dry and the tightest he’s ever been.

Through tears and held-in screams, he inched his fingers on the hand not behind him, towards the cool metal handle of the gun.

Using all his strength, he flipped on his side just enough, howling at how much further it yanked at his dislocated shoulder, to bring his right hand, gun clutched in it to a usable position.

He shot, point-blank, and blood and brains and tissue rained on him like confetti.

His foster mom found him on the bed like that. She called the police.

There was nothing Keith could do to get out of it, so he just didn’t move.

He was tried. Convicted. And it didn’t matter that he was only 16, he’d murdered, he was a problem case, and he was headed off to jail as an adult.

* * *

Keith met a group of three. Hunk, Lance, and Pidge were their names. Pidge, who was actually a girl and had managed to sneak her way in, was there for cyber crimes. Hunk had been her accomplice in that he’d built the equipment for her to use for the hacking. Lance, was, as he put it, ”Brown in the wrong place, at the wrong time.” He’d been friends with Hunk and Pidge, but had no idea about their illegal activities. But he was, in fact, brown, and from an immigrant family, so the judge found that sufficient evidence.

But more than them, Keith came to find that there was someone else there of interest.

It was Officer Shiro.

But his face was worn, a pink keloid carved from cheek to cheek over the bridge of his nose. One of his arms was an imposing prosthesis. He’d been large before, especially to young Keith, but nowhere was imposing. In stature and build. And mannerisms.

This Shiro was seemed a changed man. But as he looked at Keith, and realization danced in his grey eyes, Keith realized he, himself, was also a changed man. If he could call himself one at 17.

At least Keith could still see softness in Shiro’s eyes.

Keith didn’t get to see Shiro much, unfortunately.

The first time he does, it’s less about Shiro, and more about the reasons the man is there.

For all the years, and the way he’s starting to slowly fill out his frame, Keith was still beautiful. Still small. And just like with his foster dad, the other men started looking at him funny.

The man who came forward to make good on the watching was one who went by the name Zarkon.

He was a giant of a man.

When Keith was cournered in the showers, there was nothing he could do.

Nothing _he_ could, but a group of men surrounded Keith and Zarkon, and wrenched that man away.

Keith turned around, ready to try and fight off who had probably wanted to take Zarkon’s place, but the men pointedly gave Keith room.

With a curse, Keith realized they had tattoos and that they were in the Blades of Marmora gang.

”I’m Kolivan. We mean you no harm.” Said the one in front. Words meant little Keith, a man now aware of the cruelty of the world, but they had saved him. And while he wouldn’t give them trust, he thought, as he watched them retreat, he might at least consider some type of alliance.

”Keith!” Shiro had stormed in, nearly slipping on the wet tiles of the shower. Far from the man who now looked so cold, so closed-off, inside there, he looked frazzled and panicked.

Keith’s body warmed from head to toe.

”I’m ok.”

Shiro put an arm on the wall, doubled over as he caught his breath.

”Fuck.” Shiro shook his head. ”Listen, Keith-”

He looked around, like he was afraid he was being watched, ”I can’t- I have to keep up appearances. Any detection of weakness here means they’ll rip you apart. So I can’t- but God I want to.” He rambled but Keith couldn’t really pay attention because Shiro was getting closer and Keith was so very naked and-

Shiro’s body was so warm.

Keith let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

”Keith, I can’t be like this out there,” Shiro’s hand cups his cheek, and his thumb rubs the skin beneath it, ”But, I’m here for you. Ok? Know that. And... And that what happened wasn’t your fault.”

They broke apart and Shiro went away, and maybe it was just the fact that he was a teenager, or maybe his sense of sexuality was so broken from all he’d been through, but he turned around and used the rare space he was given to complete himself, spilling messy onto the floor and down the drain.

The next person to try Keith was a rich, white boy who’d been locked up for money laundering. His name was James. And unlike Zarkon, James was Keith’s size, and Keith had no qualms ripping nails against James the minute Keith’s arm was pulled behind him.

This time when Shiro came over, Keith felt ice strike his veins.

”Kogane, come with me.”

Shiro yanked Keith by the collar and forced his hands behind his back, slapping handcuffs around his wrists.

He was taken to isolation.

It was maddening.

Keith screamed inside the windowless room. He banged fists along the walls. He cried. He kicked the cot. He threw up. He saw things. He lost things. Time. Sanity.

Shiro stood guard the whole time.

When Keith was finally to be let out, Shiro slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

”I’m gonna get you out of here,” he whispered.

Keith, still out of his head, just responded by grabbing Shiro’s face and pressing their lips together. It was grounding. And Shiro must have known that, because while he didn’t respond Enthusiastically, he did part his lips for Keith, let Keith explore his mouth with tongue, and even sighed for Keith, groaned quietly for him.

* * *

Zarkon had never forgotten his humiliation.

He tried picking fights with Keith. He stalked Keith, for as much as could be considered such in a facility. He made Keith jump at every noise or movement around him.

Shiro had enlisted the help of a lawyer named Allura. And Keith wanted to keep his head down, for once in his life. So he sought out the Blades’ protection.

Shiro was upset. ”Keith, nobody helps anybody for nothing here,” he’d warned as the two finally got a moment alone together in a secluded alleyway between the yard and housing.

”I’ll be fine,” he assured Shiro, not feeling at all like he would be. He, too, figured the protection would come at a price. And given that the Blades were all huge, older men, and Keith was small, younger, it was too obvious what the price would be. For anyone missing women, A face-down Keith would do alright.

It’s Kolivan who takes him. Except, for the first time, Keith’s handled gently, almost reverently. He figures it’s been quite some time since Kolivan’s lain a woman down, and Keith appreciates that the man would lay him down as he would a lover. Despite making Keith’s toes curl And body sing and giving Keith a glimpse into what healthy sexuality might look like, Kolivan whispers into his ear all the same,” I’m sorry. I have to for appearances. For your safety and mine, I have to claim you.”

But Keith isn’t sorry when Kolivan brings him to completion, and holds him through it.

Word spreads fast (faster than Keith’s legs at the promise of more from Kolivan) that Keith is Kolivan’s. And Keith no longer feels eyes on him, even when he’s hanging out with Pidge, Hunk, and Lance without any Blades.

The relief, though, brings it’s own troubles.

It gives him space to think.

To think about his childhood. About the abuse. About murdering.

He finds himself more often than not begging Kolivan for sex, if just so Kolivan’s grunts and broad chest can hide his face and muffle his cries.

Keith finally gets to meet with Allura.

She really is all Shiro made her out to be. She’s a fierce woman when it comes to her work, but also kind and gentle when it comes to Keith.

It’s overwhelming, building the case for Keith.

Keith has to recount so many things. He has to face truths that he’d long ago shoved into places he wouldn’t have to look at.

The more evidence Allura collects, the greater the favor seems towards Keith winning in court.

One night he’s alone with Shiro, it all hits him at once.

He sobs into Shiro’s shoulder, babbling about having murdered, what it was like to witness, what it’s like knowing you’ve taken a life. He talks about sex and sexuality; how he can never undo things, and how he’ll probably never be healthy with it. He comes undone where He’s sewn himself shut and every part of him is leaking through the seams.

”I’m a monster. Even if I get out of here, I’ll never be able to escape the things that put me in here in the first place.”

And Shiro, who’d long told Keith about what happened when he left juvie , the story of the scars, and his arm, just held him. He didn’t tell Keith that was wrong. He didn’t promise it would all get better. He knew, more than many others would, that, yes, this would follow him until the grave.

”But there’s no reason to give up. Scars can heal.”

And it’s maybe the first time Keith realizes Shiro isn’t talking about the physical ones.

Allura wins not just his case, but the case against the facility. She’d kept it mum, because she didn’t know if she could win the larger one, and didn’t want to provide hope when there was none. Not to them. Not to those so starved of the follow-through to hope.

Not everyone walks free. While most were the results of wrongful imprisonment, based on skin colour, or sexuality, or Immigrant status, not all were.

Keith walked free with Pidge, Hunk, and Lance. The Blades were released. Zarkon was sent to another facility. James, white, rich, was also released, though there was nothing in the case that said he should be.

Shiro walked out on his job; walked with Keith to front, and didn’t stop walking.

He took Keith home. His home. Gave him a room to take a nap in and ordered the most decadent meal he could for them.

They ate.

They cried.

They curled up on the couch and watched a movie.

Keith fell asleep in his own bed, in his own room that night.

The scars wouldn’t be gone by morning. But at least they could finally start healing.

**Author's Note:**

> I am currently looking for a beta for nsfw/darker-themed fics, so f you are interested hmu
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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